


Bedtime

by hippocrates460



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Greg knows what to do, M/M, Mycroft is t i r e d, Soft Smut Sunday
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-15
Updated: 2018-07-15
Packaged: 2019-06-10 22:07:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15301053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hippocrates460/pseuds/hippocrates460
Summary: Mycroft comes back from a trip in desperate need of some Greg.





	Bedtime

Greg is watching TV in his flat when he hears the elevator stop on his floor. _Strange_. His neighbours are away on holiday, no one else lives on this floor, the doorbell didn't ring. He picks his feet off the coffee table and stretches out right as he hears the key in the lock. _Has to be Mycroft_. No one else has a key, no one that would arrive this late without a warning. Not even on a Saturday.

He walks to the hallway right as the door opens, seeing the silhouette of a very tired Mycroft against the light in the corridor. Slumped shoulders, briefcase on the floor.

“Hey,” he whispers against Mycroft’s lips. “Thought you weren’t coming home until tomorrow.”

“Wasn’t, had to.” Mycroft sighs, and Greg knows what time it is.

“Off with your kit and in the bed, you have two minutes. Unless you need the bathroom first?”

Mycroft shakes no and stalks past him, leaving his briefcase to Greg. Greg locks up, turns off the telly, gets rid of the empty beer bottle and joins Mycroft in the bedroom. He’s curled tight in the middle of the bed, huddled in the sheets, eyes pressed closed like he might be getting a headache. Greg gets naked and joins him under the covers, wraps himself around naked and shivering Mycroft. He kisses his forehead over and over until Mycroft looks at him.

“Talk?”

Mycroft shakes no again, “fuck me.” He shivers again, crawls just a little closer. “I wish to... feel it. Tomorrow still. Please.”

Greg kisses Mycroft deeply and pushes him onto his back, it’s been a few days without this and he has missed it. “Gorgeous,” he whispers against Mycroft’s lips. “I have missed you very much.”

Mycroft sighs happily and relaxes into the mattress. Touches Greg’s ear gently. “Thank you for taking the time to call, thank you for letting me come over.”

“Anytime, love.” Greg kisses his way down Mycroft’s chest, his soft stomach, up his thighs. He smells of leather car seat and laundry powder and cock. Greg licks at the head a few times, then reaches over for the lube.  

“Do you need...”

“No, no,” Mycroft’s hips move in anticipation, “lube is enough.”

“Mmm,” Greg laughs against Mycroft’s hip, “and miss the chance to make you scream with your cock in my mouth? I think not. Do you want a pillow under your hips?”

Mycroft leans up to look at him, finally present, “gods, Gregory. Yes, yes I’ll take a pillow.”

After some rearranging, Greg is kneeled between Mycroft’s legs, teasing him by scratching up and down his legs, licking too gently at his balls, squeezing his cock in between. Mycroft hisses and bucks, “please, please." Greg traces a finger down from his balls and Mycroft whines. "I feel hollow, _please_.”

"Alright, darling, I'm right here," Greg sooths. He takes two lube-covered fingers and rubs around to get the skin slick, before pushing in with both. Slowly and steadily, letting Mycroft adjust, moving as he moves his hips. When he’s confident Mycroft is alright with the stretch, he wraps his lips around his cock. He can’t help but moan, he’s missed this too. Mycroft twitches at the feeling, then apologizes with a sweep of his fingers against Greg’s jaw. Before he can relax fully into the mattress again, Greg _pushes_ and...

“Ah ahh,” Mycroft groans. It’s such a beautiful noise that Greg has to squeeze himself with his free hand. He keeps his fingers carefully in place, bobbing his head up and down until he feels Mycroft’s legs starting to tremble and he lets off with an obscene ‘pop’.

“Greg,” begs Mycroft, scrambling for Greg’s arms, “Greg, _please_. Please.”

Sitting up again, Greg takes in Mycroft’s flushed cheeks, spread legs, wide eyes. Need. He leans forward for a quick kiss and rearranges them so Mycroft’s legs are around his waist.

“Alright?” He whispers, as he slicks himself up with lube and pushes slowly. All Mycroft manages is " _hmhnggnnn",_ but he says it with feeling. So Greg keeps pushing until he can lie down on top of Mycroft. All around him, arms and legs, heat and wet. He licks at Mycroft’s ear.

“My god, Gregory,” Mycroft hisses. His voice is hoarse and rough and it makes Greg twitch eagerly. “I love it when you’re on top of me, you make me feel so safe, you feel so good in me,” he babbles, and Greg picks up the pace, keeps licking at Mycroft’s ear.

Mycroft’s hips start moving again, pushing his erection against Greg’s stomach in no real pattern between Greg’s slow pushes and Mycroft’s laboured rolls.

“I’m so close,” Greg whispers, “can I?”

Mycroft’s back arches and he groans, deep and wild, while sneaking down his hand. In between their bodies, Greg’s snapping hips push Mycroft’s cock through his hand.

“Mm,” he hums, “Greg. It’s - I’m...”

Greg knows, can see it in his face. He switches over to Mycroft’s shoulder and bites as he picks up his pace until he feels Mycroft’s thighs squeeze and squeeze and Mycroft is coming hot and hard between them. The extra pressure on his cock has Greg coming almost immediately, calves cramping, thighs burning.

As Greg becomes aware of fingers gently scratching his back, his own breathing slowing down, he notices how heavily he’s lying on Mycroft. He wriggles around to feel where his limbs are before pushing off just a little.

“Are you alright?” Mycroft asks him, slow and gentle.

Greg chuckles as he kisses the mark on Mycroft’s shoulder. “Should be asking you that question.”

“I feel infinitely better than I did when I got here,” Mycroft promises. “I would feel even better if I could have a shower and some tea.”

“Alright,” Greg laughs, “I see how it is. Let me just...” He leans back to grab the tissues so they won’t have to change the sheets, and they manoeuvre around to untangle without making a mess.

“I’ll get the kettle on,” he promises, “go use the bathroom.”

In the shower they rinse off and wash each other with Mycroft’s favourite posh shower gel ( _I’ve sensitive skin, Gregory_ ). In bed, Greg reads up on the highlights from the match on his phone, one arm around Mycroft. They share a mug of Bedtime tea.


End file.
